


The Russian Method

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Lilia is fuelled by spite and vodka and sex, Pre-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, ballerinas can totally teach figure skaters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-04-07 14:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: Lilia comes to Japan to rekindle a relationship with her fellow ex-ballerina, Minako. For some reason, this ends with her coaching a Japanese Figure Skater, a lot of sex, and Winter Olympics nobody is going to forget soon.





	1. From Russia With Love

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to write my bitter ballerina lesbians forever. (Sorry.) Thank you to aliencupcake, who has probably forgotten me because I'm the slowest writer ever, but who was the biggest help <3
> 
> This is set in 2013, and Yuuri is 18 and still in high school.

The first thing Minako did, after picking up Lilia from the airport and inviting her in was drawing her in by the lapels of her expensive looking coat, pressing herself against the space next to the coat hanger, and kissing her.

Well, the very first thing was dropping her car keys into the bowl next to the door with the post stamp, but who cared, really, when Lilia was finally in her apartment, ready to be devoured?

Minako took her by the lapels, didn’t stop to do anything else, and then kissed her with all the pent-up desire she was capable of. It had been entirely too long.

"I’m actually not here just for the sex," Lilia protested feebly against her mouth. Minako didn’t think Lilia had ever done anything feebly in her life, so she felt free to disregard that, and continued pressing her mouth agains unresisting lips. Lilia’s lips were always softer than they looked, smooth and supple against hers. She didn’t know how she could have forgotten, could have kissed other people and thought their lips soft, too.

Lilia smelled delicious; French, somehow — that layered flowery perfume not all that common in Japan. It had permeated the air in the car, a delicious scent that drove Minako wild. She should take a breath, maybe it was the lack of oxygen that made her this euphoric. It couldn’t possibly be the mere presence of Lilia.

"You smell so good," Minako said against her lips, and later couldn’t tell if it had been Japanese, English, French, or Russian. Lilia groaned, and then pulled her up. Minako went up easily, after a lifetime being lifted, and could not believe that Lilia kept a proper hold on her.

Further exploring her lips, they were slightly chapped, from the dry air of the plane probably, but it didn’t stop them from being delicious and talented, and utterly amazing.

"Are you sure you aren’t here for sex?" Minako asked, breathlessly, still in the air. Lilia nosed along her neck, along the sensitive tendon under her ear. She shivered. She didn’t know if she could stop, now. She was pulsing with need, her slip felt drenched, and if Lilia was going to discuss business plans, or a travel itinerary, Minako was going to brain her with that vase. There were too many layers of clothes between them, and Minako wouldn’t be able to deal with it, if taking of their clothes would take much longer.

"You told me to come see you once I was finished with Yakov," Lilia said huskily. Minako shivered again, told herself it was the warmth and not the fact that Lilia remembered a promise from twenty years ago. Either way, Lilia had not seemed to keep it—why would she remember it?

And with a last nibble, Lilia let go of Minako, slid her down until she stood on her own two feet and looked into her eyes. "I’m finished with Yakov."

Minako had the stamina of a ballerina, the stamina of a world-class athlete, and still she was breathless from a few simple words. Lilia, finished with Yakov. It didn’t compute. For all that their relationship had been complicated, Lilia Baranovskaya had always supported her husband well past anything Minako would have done. Then again, maybe that was what you did in a relationship, and was the reason why none of Minako’s had lasted more than 5 years, let alone over 20. "Took you longer than I thought," she said, and couldn’t hide the hitch in her breath. Lilia, free of obligations. It was hard to imagine.

Lilia, still pressed against the door, arched her eyebrow. Minako wanted to ravish her, destroy her, devour her, and never let go again. "It’s not like you were waiting for me in some kind of virginal — anticipation," she said, and it was true. Minako had her own scandals. Minako had her own life and obligations. It would be folly to disregard them, and fall into bed with Lilia again. 

Minako laughed, and kissed her nose. She’d do it anyway, of course. It had never been a good idea to fall into bed with the Soviet Fairy. "No," she said. "But he was a berk. I thought you’d ditch him sooner."

"Well," Lilia said, and smirked, "I have a thing for snotty high-brow upstarts."

"Let me show you how snotty I really am, then," Minako grinned and pulled her towards the bedroom.

There, Minako pulled off her coat in record speed, dropped it onto the floor, and latched onto Lilia again. She had time to brace herself, barely, and with a buoyant energy, deposited Minako on the bed.

"You can never wait for even a second," Lilia scolded her playfully, and divested herself of her blouse. She knelt on the bed between Minako’s legs, hitched up her skirt for better access, and then kissed her again.

It had been too long. Minako’s lips were so kissable, and plump, and delightful, and yet Lilia had spent the last twenty years not kissing them, and it was such a shame. Lilia nibbled on the little dimple underneath her lips, and Minako’s nose scrunched up.

"Are you going to spend all night kissing me?" she asked breathlessly.

Lilia set another kiss on the artery beneath her ear, and then sucked lightly. Minako shuddered, and it wasn’t in revulsion, far from that. With one hand Lilia pulled down her pantyhose, and yes, Minako was wet. When Lilia touched her folds, lightly, just the sensitive area outside, Minako let out a breathless moan. She moved closer.

"Are you going to complain if I do?" Lilia asked, and set another kisson her neck just below the first, her fingers still not quite touching her folds. Delicate, feathery touches followed.

Minako squirmed underneath her hand, trying to get Lilia to touch her, more, nearer to her centre, to stop prolonging this delicious torture, but Lilia’s hands were firm in their exploration. "Yes!" Minako said, and then whined as Lilia took a finger to outline her sex. "Is this revenge?" she asked, just as breathless. If it was, it was a sweet one — Minako felt absolutely drenched. She squirmed more, the urge of her arousal too strong to contain into stillness.

Lilia set another kiss on her neck instead of answering, and then, finally!—touched her where she wanted most.

With hitched breath, Minako moaned again, and was rewarded by Lilia’s hand, rubbing her, edging her closer and closer to orgasm. "God, I missed you!" she shouted in the heat of the moment, instead of something less revealing, but it was still something said in the throes of ecstasy, and so wouldn’t count against her. Her legs pressed close around Lilia’s hand, and she could smell her, and Lilia had not forgotten a single thing about bringing her off, had perhaps practiced—Minako shivered, and suddenly the single finger felt harsh.

Lilia’s next kiss was against the curve of her breast, still softly cradled by both bra and blouse— and Minako needed to catch her breath. "I’m still clothed," she said finally. Lilia was smiling indulgently at her, wearing parts of her coat, still. "You’re still clothed, too."

"Yes," Lilia said, and smiled like the cat that got the cream and the canary. "But it was very exciting welcome. Would do again."

"You didn’t come," Minako said stupidly.

"No," Lilia answered and smiled indulgently. "It does take me a little longer. I am older than you."

"Pah," Minako’s flippant hand gesture managed to catch on to Lilia’s fancy coat. "Tell that to someone who hasn’t seen you dance an entire ballet just a few days ago."

"You were at the Tokyo ballet?" Lilia asked, pleased, and took of her coat, finally. "You shouldn’t have. Or you should, and have come backstage to celebrate the success of the piece."

"Your ego is big enough already."

"True."

Lilia grabbed her own top, and with a fluid movement pulled it off. Her bra was lacy, fancy, and cost probably more than her coat — at least that’s how it looked.

"Planning to get laid, where you?" Minako asked with raised eyebrows.

"I was visiting you, wasn’t I?"

"I should spank you," Minako said, and then blushed, when Lilia kept smiling.

"Kinky," she said.

Minako rolled her eyes, and removed her own blouse, then the skirt and pantyhose — they definitely needed to be washed. But then Lilia was there, in her matching pair of underwear, and Minako forgot to worry about the laundry.

Mesmerised, she kissed her, again. And now, after the first orgasm, she had time to revel in the kiss, could taste Lilia in all her glory. Could map out her mouth, and play with the soft hairs on her nape. Her hair was still bound tight at the back of her head. Minako pulled out the hairpin, and let down the long black tresses. They had curled slightly, and gave Lilia the wild look of a nymph, maybe. It was incredible to see the primaballerina assoluta like this — wild and unabashed, unrestrained by the forms of ballet, and yet so much more graceful for it.

Then, the velvety feel of the tongues against each other distracted her, twirling in an age old dance — Minako grabbed Lilia’s cheeks, so she would not escape, the round, strong buttocks filling her hands. There was power in them, and Minako was almost reeling from the feel.

Lilia was taller than her, had always been taller, higher up, and Minako revelled in the way she felt on top of her, on top of the world. This was what she’d been missing, and she didn’t want to let it go again.

With a quick move, she flipped them over, slithered down between Lilia’s knees and set her mouth against Lilia’s sex. She kissed her clit, tongued a circle around it, and then laughed a bit, when Lilia shuddered.

"Too old for an orgasm, huh?" she said. What a way to challenge her to licking her pussy. Minako grinned.

Lilia protested, but Minako didn’t listen to the exact words, instead, she licked on long stripe from Lilia’s vagina to her clitoris. It was effective, probably more than she’d intended — Lilia pressed her shoulders down with her knees, and arched her back. She continued licking, and sucking, and Lilia’s moans grew in abandon— she was louder, more into it, than she had been decades before. Had she grown more sensitive?

Soon, Lilia was shuddering all around her, with Minako’s fingers exploring in her cleft.

"You’ve gotten more talented at that," Lilia said, when she had come down again.

"I think you’ve simply grown more sensitive," Minako replied, wiping off the fluids on her chin, and gracing Lilia with an insolent grin. She crept up the futon, to snuggle into Lilia’s arms. Once there, the other woman asked her, "Another one?"

"Oh thanks," Minako replied, "but I’m dead. Tomorrow, maybe?"

"Sure," Lilia said, and softly swept the hair out of Minako’s face. "You look like you’ve barely aged," she said after a while just laying there, basking in each other’s presence.

"You don’t," Minako said, and Lilia laughed.

"I feel insulted."

"You shouldn’t," Minako said against her shoulder. "I like you, cellulite and all."

Lilia poked her bony finger between her ribs. "I don’t have cellulite," she said, indignant.

Minako snickered, and slapped her hand away. "Keep telling yourself that."

"At least I haven’t gained weight," Lilia said petulantly.

"I don’t have to fit into skintight leotards anymore," Minako defended herself sleepily.

"Point." There was silence, then Lilia asked. "But what are you doing with your time instead?"

"Oh, nothing much." Minako replied. "Coaching some middle school ballerinas. And there's this really talented figure skater, he's the son of a former classmate -- he comes by sometimes and I teach him how to move in front of an audience."

"Figure skaters," Lilia said with a tone that likened them to the bugs underneath the soles of her feet. "Ugh."

"He's good, though. A bit shy." Minako turned around to give her a brief kiss. "He reminds me of you, sometimes."

"A figure skater? A shy figure skater?" Lilia repeated, incredulous.

Minako laughed. "Yeah, that's him. Yuuri Katsuki."

"I think I have a type," Lilia muttered, and kissed Minako's neck — she had probably already left a small red spot there. Minako hoped it wouldn't turn into a bruise, simply to pretend she had some dignity left. "You said he was good?"

"He's excellent, at least with his footwork, and his flexibility. He could use a lot more core-strength, especially if he wants to compete internationally, but his ability to translate feelings onto the ice... I told you he reminds me of you."

There was another pause, and then Lilia said, "I'm not staying in Japan for long."

"Yes," Minako replied, not knowing what that had to do with the topic of discussion.

"I would like to see that figure skater, if you really think he has that sort of presence."

"You hate figure skaters."

Lilia grimaced. "That's not true."

Minako hitched herself up on her elbows and looked at Lilia, with both brows raised, "You hate figure skaters."

Lilia stared at the ceiling. "You say he's good. But you are a ballerina, not a figure skater, why is it that you're training him, and not a real coach? Japan has an abundance of figure skaters, haven't they— and not enough government funding for all of them, too, I bet. He's not going to make it very far, with that kind of obstacles— whereas I have a house sitting in Moscow, with its own competitive skating rink, a ton of connections with top figure skaters, and an astonishing lack of engagements."

"You weren't going to stay in Japan."

"Well, that's certainly not because I'm bored of you."

"You remember how I hate Russia," Minako said.

"You didn't hate Russia, you hated being second best," Lilia replied, a blunt punch right into the weak spots. "Besides, I haven't even seen him yet. Maybe your assessment of figure skaters sucks as much as your taste in music— Wagner, really?"

"And what would you like to hear? It's not like the Russian composers have more— beat."

"What's wrong with contemporary music?" Lilia asked, but Minako was distracted by her eyes, her wild hair, the way she moved with purpose and dedication.

Then, Lila was caressing her sides— it didn't necessarily feel like a sexual touch, but it was one Minako felt down to her bones.

It took awhile to remember the thread of the conversation, and then she said, "But isn't Tschaikovsky your contemporary?"

Lilia's caress turned into a pinch. Minako felt hilarity bubbling up inside of her, and it finally escaped in a torrent of giggles. Lilia looked on in disapproval, but that didn't stop Minako. Finally, Lilia kissed her — and that managed to shut her up.

"You're a menace to society," Lilia told her, and shuffled down on her. Minako was preparing for another pinch, maybe a soft slap, when Lilia opened her legs, and started eating her out.

Minako shouted, and wasn't sure if that was entirely appropriate, wasn’t sure what language she had cursed in, even — but it wasn't something she was going to complain about, ever. Maybe it had even been something she had dreamed about, back when she herself had been thoroughly under the thumb of Prima Ballerina Baranovskaya, the dominant voice in the theatre, on her knees in front of her. Now, now that she had left the feeling of inadequacy behind, it still held that thrill of old, even though technically Lilia wasn't on her knees.

Her pleasure was building slowly, and steadily. Lilia used her tongue like she was trying to make her break apart, and Minako wasn't sure she would stay to build her back together again. She had already been thinking about going back to Russia again, not a half hour after her last orgasm.

The wet heat of her mouth engulfed her, speed her up, would splatter her among the stars; and it felt incredible to have Lilia here, bring her pleasure and take some in return. Minako told herself it wouldn’t matter to her if she left. When she left.

Minako looked down on her. At some point she had grabbed her neck, her hair, her shoulders. The hair felt like silk running through her fingers, even though it looked wild — it should have cut her like thorns, Minako thought nonsensical. Lilia shouldn’t feel so soft when she was hard and sharp and could cut you open in the blink of an eye.

"I'm..." she tried to say in between moans. She didn't know how she would have continued — that was when the dam broke over her, when she bloomed in ecstasy. She felt raw, coming down. As if her heart was on display, and she’d splatter into thousand tiny shards as soon as she was touched.

Lilia never had done anything by halves.

Now, coming down from the high, Minako couldn't help but wonder about Lilia’s initial reason to take the engagement for the Tokyo Ballet. They hadn't talked about it, and banter in the middle of sex — usually their most open communication channel — didn't count. Hell, Minako didn't know if that invitation to coach Yuuri was something Lilia wanted to follow through.

Spite was a powerful motivation tool for Lilia, though, and she would cut off her own nose to spite Yakov.

"You'd tell me if this was just a diversion, right?" Minako said sleepily looking up at Lilia. She didn’t think she would, but Lilia had surprised her pleasantly before.

Lilia had her eyes closed, and didn’t open them during her reply. "What are you worrying about? I’m basking in the after-glow..."

"Do you have bright-eyed ballet ingenues in every city?"

Lilia opened her eyes and laughed. "I don't know where your mind goes, sometimes," she said finally.

"I never know where your mind goes."

Lilia’s laughter softened into a smile. It was nice. "A surprising amount of time it goes to you."

Minako closed her eyes. That was an especially nice sentiment, coming from Lilia. "Come here," she said. "I want to kiss you."

"You do know where my mouth was," Lilia said with a raised eyebrow.

The kiss was invigorating, delicious, and filthy. Their tongues wrapped around each other, and it was not at all elegant and restrained. Minako revelled in it. Lilia had missed her after all, though she of course couldn’t admit. She straddled her again, and vowed to make this weekend one for the books.


	2. Icing the Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilia is enjoying her get-away with Minako, who takes her on a date to the ice rink.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" the salary men frequenting the bar Minako had bought with the winning endowment of the _Benois de la Danse_ chanted, and everyone around the countertop downed their bowl of sake. Minako abstained. Lilia didn’t. So far, she had matched each and every bowl. One of the men was already laying on top of the bar, passed out drunk.

It was not the most healthy leisure activity,  the rate of alcoholism in Japan one of the highest of the developed world, but it was one thing Japan and Russia had in common, a way of cultural exchange. Minako curled up her lip. And Lilia certainly didn’t have to hide her tolerance.

This wasn’t how Minako would have chosen to make the weekend on for the books, but Lilia would certainly ascend into a local legend.

"Dear Customers," she said in a voice that meant the opposite. "I think you have had enough. Also, I’m running out of Sake."

"One more," Lilia said. "I take vodka."

"Yes, vodka!" the last few men standing agreed, and with a sigh Minako served one more round of vodka. 

"Last call," she said.

After Minako had gotten rid of all of her customers, it was a wonder that Lilia was still standing straight, mostly.. However, on the way across the street, and up the stairs to her apartment, Lilia kept feeling her butt, and was generally much clingier than usual, so Minako didn’t worry too much about the state of her liver.

That time was instead spent worrying about anyone seeing them, even though it was the middle of the night, and the street lamps were the usual almost-broken dim lighting that produced more shadows than actual light to see. Their progress across the street and up the stairs was impeeded by Lilia flopping against her, and resting her face against her neck.

"Have I told you how much I love the slope of your nape?" Lilia mumbled into her, and then pronounced her "a god-like beauty" in Russian. 

Minako, who had thought Lilia was announcing her intent to puke and had paused their efforts, rolled her eyes, and tried dragging her the rest of the way. "If only you ever said such things to me while sober," she says, more to the high heavens than Lilia.

Then, of course, Lilia started sucking, right there, on the open street, and sneaked a hand underneath her skirt. Her fingers were warm against the chill of the night air. They felt like hot brands on her skin through the sheer material of her clothing. Minako dropped her key, and cursed.

The fingers explored further—she shouldn’t let her, this was Japan, this was in public, this was wide-open space — but Minako didn’t want her to stop, wanted her to continue forever.

"Stop," she said, breathless.

The fingers stilled, right between her folds that were dripping with fluid.

Minako squirmed. It felt like the fingering continued, even though she was the only one that was moving. What had she been trying to do—oh yeah.

"Let’s go inside," she said, and heaved Lilia off herself. "Come on, there’s only the stairs left. Then you may ravish me to your heart’s desire."

"You’re very obliging," Lilia mumbled, but straightened up, and took her fingers out of Minako’s pussy. 

Minako shouldn’t like a pliant Lilia so much. She couldn’t help smiling, when she opened the door, finally. Immediately, Lilia came even closer, even if that shouldn’t have been possible. Minako stumbled across the stack of papers left on the floor, from the letter slot through the door— and then she was down on the floor, Lilia on top of her. She smelled of tobacco and alcohol, a revolting scent, and yet it’s tantalising when it comes with Lilia.

"Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now," Minako mumbled. She didn’t say it too loudly, because she wanted the opposite, wanted sex on the floor, sex in the bathroom, sex that would last for ages.

"Why?" Lilia asked, and Minako had no reply. She sank into another kiss instead. It was sloppy, uncoordinated. And yet, Lilia got her going like nobody else, made her competitive and creative, and felt so good against her skin.

"It’s late," she said, and this wouldn’t mean anything to Lilia who was on vacation, but Minako had obligations. And that shook her out of her arousal induced amnesia — or maybe it was laying on the invitation to the exhibition skate that poked her into her ribs. "There’s this student I teach," she said, and then didn’t know how to continue to explain the Katsuki family and her special relationship with Yuuri. She didn’t even know if Lilia wanted to know about her friends, her obligations, her duty (though she hadn’t complained when Minako said she had to open the bar.)

"Is this you telling me you fucked your student and want to break up with me?" Lilia murmured, half-slurring the words. "If you’re trying to say that, it would be nice if you were very clear about it."

"No!" Minako protested. "Where did you even get the idea? It’s the son of a former classmate!"

"This is the exact opening Yaakov used, to break up with me," Lilia said. She moved in a way that might have been a shrug if she had been upright. "Your student, a son of your classmate," Lilia prompted. 

"—I’m not breaking up with you," Minako said. It would explain some of Lilia’s behaviour, if that really was how Yakov broke up their marriage. Minako, however, was more attracted by authority and competence. "Anyway, this student I taught, he’s getting into professional figure skating."

Lilia snorted in disgust. "Figure skating," she repeated. Minako wondered if this was the perfect opportunity to talk about what else she did, here in Fukuoka, and then figured that it was Lilia’s own mistake in getting drunk that led them to here, at 1 a.m. on the floor, having drunken confessions.

"It brings in more people than ballet, in Japan," Minako defended her student. "It’s more prestigious, too, maybe."

Lilia grimaced. "This is a painful conversation," she stated, drily, for all that her chin was pressed against the hardwood floors, and her hair was in disarray, and Minako’s hand was between her thighs, holding her up. "What’s your point in bringing it up?"

"There’s an exhibition skate for sponsors, tomorrow morning, and I’m going. Want to come along?"

Lilia considered. "Sure," she said finally. "It can’t be worse than watching Yakov’s students skate."

Minako smiled, and kissed her nose. "Aww, grumpy!" she said. "Do you think another orgasm would help that?"

Lilia half-heartedly slapped her away. Belying her actions, she proceeded to grind herself against Minako’s leg—that was, until Minako’s moan of pleasure turned into one of pain when she banged her head against the umbrella stand. Then, she said, "Maybe we should move this towards your futon." 

Relocating, Lilia was less helpful, stopping every few meters to distract her by trying to take of her clothes, first the blouse, and then the bra, leaving her breast to the colder air. The nipples pebbled up, leaving Lilia delighted, and slightly distracted.

"You’re an absolute work of art," Lilia told her in a rare, complimentary mood. With the unerring confidence of drunk people, Lilia steered herself directly to the cabinet in which Minako kept her toys. She choose the elegant black, long vibrator that Minako had bought mostly for the aesthetic, and the velvety handcuffs that a former flame had left.

"Handcuffs, really?" Minako questioned. "You’re drunk."

"Fine," Lilia pouted and left them there. Instead, she picked up the industrial sized bottle of lube. "I’m not drunk, though."

Minako rolled her eyes, and pulled her close. "I know exactly how much you had to drink, because I served it to you. I’d worry if you weren’t at least slightly tipsy."

"I think I’m very tipsy," Lilia admitted, and kissed her on the neck. Then, she licked a stripe all the way to her ear. "You won’t have sex with me if I admit that, though."

Minako laughed. "I think you managed to seduce me so thoroughly that I can’t resist you no matter what." She pulled her further up, until she could get her hands underneath the hem of Lilia’s skirt, and then slowly trawled her fingers over the sensitive area of her inner thighs.

Lilia shuddered and moaned, without her usual more restrained demeanour. "Good," she said, satisfied, and smiled like the cat that got the cream. Minako could get used to this.

Then, Lilia got her hands on the lube, and the night got only better from there. Lilia had always known what she was doing, and even slightly impaired she was rocking Minako’s world—the combination of her kisses and the slicked up vibrator served her well, and she couldn’t remember a night she enjoyed more.

It wasn’t only the expertise in sexual matters, or the longtime crush she had on the ballerina who shaped the ballet world more than anyone else still alive. It was also the feeling of being comforted, of someone knowing who you were, wholeheartedly and with all their flaws— and staying anyway.

She reached orgasm thinking about Yakov, and what a fool he was, screwing around with other women who weren’t Lilia, and tried not to cry. She laid there panting, staring up at Lilia, who was watching her with an inscrutable look on her face.

"Lilia," she said.

Lilia fell down next to her on the pillow, exhausted herself, but not privy to Minako’s small existential crisis. She threw an arm over Minako, her eyes already closed. "Sleep," she mumbled, and then took her own advice. 

She was breathing steadily, and yet it wasn’t calming down Minako, who usually found a sleeping bed-partner comforting. Would Lilia stay for longer? Or would she go and leave Minako behind, heartbroken again? Lilia looked serene next to her. She hadn't said anything about staying, but neither had she talked about leaving. Minako took her slack hand, and set a kiss on her knuckles. 

* * *

 

"My rink’s bigger," Lilia commented when they came into the Hatsetsu ice stadium. She has spent the entire morning grouching about a million different things, and refused to admit that she was hungover.

Minako rolled her eyes, because either Lilia was lying, or her rink was not proportioned to olympic standards—very unlikely if her husband had used it to train skaters. "Yes, yes, and the ice is harder, and the skates are more durable, and the weather is colder — we know the Russians are better at winter than the rest of the world."

"Also better at vodka," Lilia grumbled into the coat of her jacket. It was a flimsy thing, because she had refused to wear the down-feather coat Minako had offered her. She hadn’t survived the drinking with the salary men unscathed. In her typically manner, she’d also refused to take any painkillers, and now she was suffering the consequences. Something she absolutely couldn’t confess to, of course.

"Good god, can someone turn down the lights," Lilia muttered underneath her breath. Minako refused to be sympathetic to her plight. She could make out Yuuri standing beside the entrance of the rink, and tried to get his attention, but he was staring into the distance and didn’t register her.

"That’s him?" Lilia asked. "He doesn’t look like much."

"He gets stage fright," Minako commented.

"A terrible fate for a performer."

Minako agreed with a hum. They settled down for the start of the competition. 

Lilia was moving around for the first few competitors, and Minako herself felt underwhelmed. It wasn’t that they were bad, it was just — their performances lacked that certain something. The thing Minako and Lilia were schooled to put into each and every one of their performances, the drive, the feeling, that was necessary to connect with the audience. There was technical brilliance to be sure, and the Japanese trainers didn’t weight their programs in quite the obnoxious way the Russians did, but there was something missing.

"It doesn’t feel like an exhibition show," Lilia said quietly to the sound of yet another Swan Lake, and Minako had to agree with her. 

"The season is opening, they are probably using this avenue as a lighter test for their programs. You do have to keep in mind that they changed the ISU point system recently."

Lilia turned up her nose. "It’s going to lead to programmes that are terrible to look at," she said. "Everyone will just do the mandatory jumps without any artistic presence at all. Look at them, it’s like they get points for falling down."

The person sitting next to her coughed. Minako said drily, "That’s the reigning national champion, actually."

"The jumps aren’t clean. He has terrible posture, and he doesn’t skate to the rhythm," Lilia said, in her inimitable manner.

Minako had to snicker into her hand and the indignant look of the other spectator.

Finally, Yuuri was stepping onto the ice. His vacant stare was still present, but he held his head high as he skated towards the starting point. In position, he greeted the audience, and then, the music was swelling.

Minako could see out of the corners of her eyes, as Lilia straightened. She stopped fiddling with her scarf, and was eying the rink attentively. The beat picked up speed, and so did Yuuri. He was covering the entirety of the ice better than the skaters before him, his footwork precise and elegant. He went into the first jump — a triple lutz, clean landing, and managed to catch the beat again immediately.

As he continued, he didn’t manage to nail his other jumps quite so perfectly — stumbling on the combination jump, and managing only three-quarter turns on his last — but the emotion ofthe performance was kept, was fantastic.

The rink burst into applause when he finished.

"Well?" Minako asked, looking over again.

"Not bad for a figure skater," Lilia said. "Pity he didn’t become a dancer instead. What a waste of good talent."

The person sitting next to her coughed again, but Minako knew it for the compliment it was. She smiled, instead.

"He seems to have an great talent to engage with his audience," Lilia said. "It’s very important. If you keep your spectators mesmerised, they won’t notice your small stepping mistakes. You said he was shy? That’s going to be a problem."

"—Not shy, exactly. Very reserved, but easily influenced by his emotions." Minako clarified.

Lilia hummed out an agreement. "Not to unusual for a performance artist, but I see where that might hinder him in competitions. Are we going to meet him?"

Minako got up, and looked into the spectator stands further down. She couldn’t see Yuuri anymore, but Hiroko’s silhouette was still very familiar to her— and Mari sitting next to her certainly helped. "My classmate is still here, but I don’t know if Yuuri will come out again or go back with the Highschool Skating Club— they’re doing club activities."

"Highschool," Lilia commented, more to herself. She followed Minako out of the row of seats, further down into the stands.

Minako nodded anyway. "He started late, his first competition was at 13, but he caught up well. The ballet helped, of course, even though he mostly learned because of his sister." They had arrived at the Katsuki’s seats, and Minako added, "That’s her, Katsuki Mari."

"Minako-sensei!" Hiroko said with enthusiasm, when she saw them. She was bright and laughing, and Minako took her outstretched hands into her own. "Did you see? Yuuri was amazing!"

Mari was more reserved, keeping slightly to the back of her mother. "He really was," Minako said, smiling.

"You must be very proud of him," Lilia said. She didn’t mangle the Japanese at all, using the same phrase countless other people had praised her with.

"This is my colleague," Minako introduced her, hesitating only slightly about the correct term. "Baranovskaya Lilia. She was in Tokyo for a ballet performance, and decided to stop by."

"Oh, how nice!" Hiroko said. "And how do you like Hatsetsu?"

Mari’s eyes had grown wide at the mention of Lilia’s name. Minako had to smile at the face she made—throwing Mari off her game took a lot, but she’d always been a fan of ballet, sticking to it much longer than Minako had predicted. She didn’t say anything.

The usual pleasantries were exchanged. Lilia’s attitude was perplexing to Minako, who had seen a much different Lilia at home. Lilia was polite, interested in the Katsukis’ inn and hot spring, and talked about the talent Katsuki Yuuri brought to the ice. Soon enough, she found a way to remind them of the time, and they left — Mari hadn’t said a word.

"What was that," Minako asked her, when they left the skating rink. "That was…"

"You told her we were colleagues," Lilia interrupted her. "That was my business face."

"I didn’t mean it like that!" Minako defended herself. "You’re going to— it wasn’t— we haven’t talked about this!"

Lilia arched her eyebrow. "I didn’t know we needed to talk about it," she said.

Minako looked at her, unclenched her teeth that she had pressed together at one point and said, quietly, "This is just like you. You come over for a booty call—"

"—booty call?" Lilia repeated incredulous, not at all quiet like Minako but at least with the English pronunciation that was less in line than most Japanese would pronounce it.

"Well, what would you call it!" Minako said, angrily.

"I’m visiting a friend, at least," Lilia said, not minder angry. "I’m on vacation. Looking at a skating competition to see if I want to make a future engagement out of it, but definitely not at you, if you keep throwing yourself at random women!"

Both of them paused, looked around the square to see nobody paying attention to them in particular, and also not studiously avoiding paying attention to them, either. Minako stepped closer. "You aren’t jealous of Hiroko, are you?" she asked.

"Jealous?" Lilia repeated again, and scoffed. Minako was absolutely certain that Lilia was, in fact, jealous. It was elating.

Minako was in touching distance, in public, and it took all her restraint not to get even closer and kiss her. "Why would I even think about it," she said, "when there’s you, right next to me?"

Lilia looked back at the door to the rink, not willing to meet her eyes. "Why else would you introduce me as a colleague," she asked, but the fight had gone out of her.

"I really really want to kiss you right now," Minako said. "Will you get in the car so that I can do it without giving a heart attack to all these geezers?"

Before Lilia had arrived at her doorstep, Minako would have said she was too old to make out in cars. But as the next half hour proved, she wasn’t too old in the least.

Inside the small car, Lilia had her hand down her pants and inside her blouse in no time at all. She kept sucking on Minako’s neck like a vampire, or someone trying very hard to be, and Minako had nothing in her to protest. She was too busy trying to get Lilia out of her coat — even though it was flimsy, it was difficult to get off. Finally, Minako could concentrate her efforts on Lilia’s blouse, and then she could admire Lilia’s boobs in all their glory.

"I don’t know why you find them so fascinating," Lilia panted into her ear. "They’ve seen better times."

"They’re perfect. I won’t hear a word against them." She stroked over the nipples, watched them pebble, and then set a kiss upon them. Lilia shivered.

They touched lips, gently, while Lilia was manoeuvring herself across the dashboard. More firmly situated, she deepened their kiss into something more filthy, more wet, more proprietary. Lilia let her off so she could breathe, but kept her lips only a hairsbreadth away. Minako felt her warmth, felt their connection.

"Who are you thinking about?" Lilia asked, her voice husky.

"There’s probably someone who notice," Minako said, her voice breaking slightly. "Police coming, to arrest us for disorderly conduct in public."

Lilia kissed her again, her tongue deep in Minako’s mouth. It was breathtaking. When she came up for air again, she set her mouth against Minako’s ear. "If someone calls the police, what do you think I should do?" She took the tendon on her neck between her teeth, and Minako moaned. Imagined the look of a police officer, coming to ask them to knock it off.

"I’m going to get out of the car," Lilia said against her neck, "tits out." Minako wanted to laugh, because it was just so ridiculous to hear Lilia say these words, but the laughter stuck in her throat. She didn’t want that, except the image of it was so very tantalising, and she might die, seeing it. "And I’ll say, I’m very sorry, officer, but my colleague spilled fluid all over herself, and we were just changing clothes. Do you think they’re going to believe me?"

She set another kiss on Minako’s neck that is more bite than kiss, her hands exploring further down, around her clit and inside her pussy. Minako moaned again. "You like that, huh," Lilia said, expertly stimulating her clit.There was a handle of something digging itself into Minako’s calves—it’d hurt at any other time.

"Or maybe you’d get out of the car, since my Japanese is obviously not up to par," Lilia said, and Minako was almost too far gone to listen to the words she was saying. Lilia’s touch was almost more of a tease—at any other time it wouldn’t have been enough to bring her off.

"You’re close, aren’t you," Lilia said. "It’s the thought of getting caught that gets to you?"

Minako answered the question by hitching herself further up, managing to get Lilia’s fingers were she wanted them most. She clenched around her fingers, felt herself dripping, a sliding wetness she became used to again with every day Lilia was staying. She grabbed Lilia’s fingers. "Come on, please," she said, and wasn’t sure she was begging her to continue speaking or fucking her with her fingers.

Lilia decided that it must have been the fingering, since she twisted her hand around, until her thumb was circling around her clit and her fingers were worming themselves into her pussy.

Minako bit into her knuckles, tasting Lilia’s essence on her fingers—she had let herself be distracted again. And then she could only pant against Lilia, the desire building up into a crescendo, the fire itching towards completion. 

"You suck," she panted into Lilia’s mouth when she came down again. Lilia was smiling smugly, and Minako’s only revenge was to bite at her lips—something she enjoyed anyway, so it wasn’t an appropriate avenue for revenge.

Her legs were shaking.

"You should suck," Lilia said, her smug smile still wide across her face. "Maybe not in here, though."

"I can’t drive home like this," Minako protested half-heartedly, her knees weak, and her legs certainly not in the shape to hold down a pedal for extended periods of time. 

Lilia looked at her critically, then shook her head decidedly. "Move over, then, and let me drive."

Minako didn’t have it in her to find a different solution, and she almost dozed off on the way home anyway, before she realised a critical detail, "Hey! You don’t even have a driver’s licence!"

They were about 50 metres away from Minako’s appartment at that point, and Lilia drove the car perfectly into the tiny parking space reserved for her car, before she turned to Minako, "Your point?"

"I’m going to chain you to the headboard, and suck you off," Minako threatened darkly, well aware that it wouldn’t exactly be a deterrent, but to entranced by Lilia to think of anything better.

 


	3. Vodka on Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minako doesn't know if she likes the way Lilia and Yuuri get along.

"We could have sex in the morning," Minako said. 

"No," Lilia answered much faster than she had expected, and Minako couldn’t help but pout.

"Why not? Morning sex sounds like a good idea."

"Morning sex always sounds like a great idea, because it makes you think about sex, and not the morning part. The morning part is what makes it suck." She rolled over, and laid a proprietary hand on Minako’s shorts. "How about one more round right now?"

Minako groaned. "How are you still horny? Well, okay, but only if I can eat you out."

Lilia grinned. "How can I say no to that?"

Minako laid back, and let Lilia arrange herself on the pillow. She was naked—gloriously naked—and it might have been Minako’s favourite thing in the world. Much of her body was hairless, from the constant waxing the revealing ballerina costumes demanded, but just over her pussy there was a delightful nest of curls. She trailed her fingers through the curls, and watched Lilia shiver.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked with a rough voice, her legs trembling slightly.

Minako pulled them wider, slowly pulled Lilia’s folds apart, and then kissed the little nub that was now showing. Lilia twitched, and then moaned in a low voice. Her hands clenched on the blanket,and then she let her hips buck up— she was dripping wet already, no need for the lube that helped with the advancing age of them both, and Minako started licking and sucking in earnest. Lilia’s reactions, if she let herself have them, were always appreciated, but there’s just something to say about having someone at their mercy.

Lilia’s hips kept bucking up against her, and while that was a compliment in and of itself, Minako feared that her teeth might suddenly interrupt the pleasure. She took her hands, and pressed them into her hair, so that Lilia could lead the way in a more subtle manner. From the fluttering of her vagina, she wasn’t too far of from an orgasm. When Lilia’s fingers carded through her hair, pulling just enough that Minako could feel it and arrange herself properly, she had to shiver herself. This was the way it had been, in Rio de Janeiro, 20 years ago.

Minako felt herself dripping, not even having touched herself. Lilia’s smell, Lilia’s moans, Lilia’s everything, that was all she needed. She hitched Lilia’s legs further up her shoulders. What she did then, was pressing her fingers into the wetness of her pussy, stretching and licking around. Lilia let out a hitched, broken breath, as if there was nothing better Minako could do to her. 

She kept on licking in long strokes, trying to get a rhythm going, and Lilia’s hitched breaths only confirmed her efforts. Minako could see her boobs bouncing up and down — she was really so far gone on Lilia, it wasn’t even funny. Her everything, even her contorted face close to ecstasy, were perfect. 

She drew a circle around her clit, and that was it, Lilia stiffened up, cried out, wrapped her long, elegant legs closer around her head, her pussy fluttering around Minako’s tongue. Minako continued licking, and Lilia kept pressing her closer— she felt more sensitive now, her clit blown up, but Lilia wasn’t stopping her, and Minako wasn’t going to stop without her say so.

 

In the morning, Minako woke in a puddle of her own drool. The sun was just on the far side of her dresser, and that meant it was too late, and if she didn’t get up right now, she wasn’t going to be able to shower of the stickiness. Sex was the furthest thing from her mind—sometimes Lilia had brilliant ideas, even if they were usually hidden behind grouching.

She left Lilia behind in the bed, and started her day, if slightly reluctantly.

Even with all the sex they were having, Lilia didn’t stick around all day and lurk over her shoulder. Apparently, she had planned a vacation, and she had been rigorously enforcing her sight seeing schedule, at least that was what she told Minako.

Minako wasn’t goingt to protest any of this, since today was her day of coaching the ballet club at the local primary, and she could just imagine Lilia’s face surrounded by the tiny little terrors. Lilia didn’t coach pre-teens, Lilia didn’t even like to coach teens. She said she was wasted teaching the basics, and in a way that was probably true, which didn’t help when Minako was trying to do it, of course. Minako had gone alone, and let Lilia explore the city and surrounding areas on her own.

When she came back from the school, Lilia was waiting. They hadn’t arranged a meeting point or date, so who knew how long she’d been standing in front of the door. The key Minako had gone to great lengths to get made during her break was burning a hole into her pocket. She wasn’t going to give it over right away, was she?

Lilia was… tense. Other people probably wouldn’t have been able to tell, but she had the itch in her legs and was raring to go. Outwardly, she was wearing a thin veneer of calm collectedness and her ever present haughty demeanour.

"I am beat," Minako called out to her. Immediately, Lilia’s head swerved around, and Minako almost felt like she had been spotted by a predator. "But feel free to use the studio. I’ll be holding a nap in the back."

Lilia stalked over, although stalking was maybe the wrong way to say it, since she was moving in that gliding feathery way of dancers. Lilia dragged a hand through Minako’s hair and let it settle in her nape. It felt gloriously cool. "You have been constantly on my mind," she said and kissed her. It wasn’t a deep kiss, it was soft and luxurious. Everything she wanted right at this moment.

Minako really was exhausted and ready to drop, and couldn’t muster any shred of sexual desire, but she kissed Lilia back anyway. "You were not, but that’s probably because you don’t resemble a horde of nine-year-old demons at all."

Lilia smiled at her, and Minako could see all of her laugh-lines in their full glory. It was dizzying. She looked around quickly, because she had only realised they were in public at this exact moment, and she would have been embarrassed, if she wasn’t so very tired.

"Later," she promised Lilia, and lead them into her studio. She waved a hand haphazardly into the direction of the music player, and then headed towards the couch she kept in the back.

She heard Lilia grumble about the choices of music, and then her eyes fell shut among the comforting sounds of feet on wood and soft music in the air.

 

"That’s Victor’s music."

"It’s Tschaikovsky’s music, to be exact."

"No, this is the music Victor skated at the Grand Prix."

"Yes," Lilia said, and she must have let the visitor with the vaguely familiar voice inside, "and he certainly doesn’t own it, and it would be a shame if it became known just under his name. He’s certainly not that well known yet."

"Victor Nikiforov is a world-class figure-skater!" Yuuri shouted, because of course he did, and Minako hid her head beneath the blanket again. Why could she have introduced them to each other with less volatile topics?

"That is debatable," Lilia said, and was probably ruining Yuuri’s opinion of her forever. "He’s certainly good, but he can’t carry the majesty of that tune on his shoulders alone." Abruptly, she changes directions. "How are your plies?"

Minako could hear him grumble, but she could also hear the quiet taps of someone getting in position. Were they getting along?

"Your footwork is adequate," Lilia said. "Bend your arms more." He must be doing exactly as she said, because she followed up with more commands — it almost sounds like a programme. Groggily, Minako stood up and staggered to the door of the studio.

There they were, Lilia standing beside him, correcting an elbow here and an extension there, but overall in peace. The music that was playing was the music Yuuri was currently obsessed with. "Now the jump," Lilia told him, and he did, without hesitating, her Yuuri jumping without hesitation! "Think about your arms!" Lilia yelled at him, and he did, and it was the most beautiful picture of a butterfly, and her Yuuri was jumping again. He landed, glided into position again, and bowed his arms.

Minako started clapping, slow and deliberate.

"Minako-sensei! Did you see that!"

"Yes, I saw," Minako said, and ruffled his head. "It was an exceptional good jump, wasn’t it, Lilia?"

Lilia rolled her eyes. "Only if you can do it again."

"Oui, Madame Baranovskaya!" he said, and went back into starting position. His footwork was really a work of art, Minako mused and wondered how lucky it was that she had taught him early.

"Does he know that you are Russian?" she asked Lilia underneath her breath. 

"No. He’s also unaware that I choreographed this music for his Victor." Lilia pressed her lips together. "I think he needs a better coach on ice. Look how easily he takes direction."

When he jumped the second time, Minako was more prepared for it, but it was still perfect in all the ways that counted — leg fully extended, perfect height, arms turned into each other. "How?" she exhaled, and apparently Lilia heard her: She was sporting the smuggest look.

"He pushes himself to extraordinary lengths," Lilia said. "You just," she did that version of a stage shrug that drove Minako off the wall crazy, "point in the right direction."

And Yuuri arrived on the ground, jumped his last few steps, and then turned towards them. "Was it okay?" he asked.

"With a bit of practise, it will work," Lilia said.

Yuuri beamed as if she had heaped praise onto him, which, in a way, she had. Lilia was always sparse on her words of praise. "Thank you! That was fun."

"Now," Lilia said. "I need some tea. Go make some, boy."

If Minako had never seen him grumble about serving the customers at the Ryokan, she’d have thought it was his daily work. She looked helplessly towards Lilia, who was still wearing that smug smirk.

"You know what I’d really like to do, Minako?" she asked. "I’d really like to make that boy into a worldclass figure skater. How do you think Yakov will look, when this boy takes his golden boy’s crown away?"

"Do you think he’s good enough for that?" Minako asked. "I know he’s very talented at skating, but — he’s really not that cut out for competing at that level. Hell, if the ballet competitions were as bad as the skating competitions, I probably wouldn’t have made it to worldclass."

Lilia listened to her, the smug look still somehow present in her face, and then said, loudly towards Yuuri who was messing with her only tea service, "Boy! What do you want to do to Victor Nikiforov?"

Yuuri looked up, proceeded to spill Minako’s tea leaves everywhere, and said, with the deepest conviction: "I want to step on his head, and have him acknowledge me as the world’s best skater!"

Triumphantly, she looked back at Minako. She didn’t say anything, the arch of her brows and the line of her chin communicating her exact meaning to perfection.

Minako shook her head. 

"What, you don’t think I can do it? You don’t think he can do it?"

"No," Minako protested, halfheartedly, because yes, those were her doubts. Doubts she would never communicate to Yuuri of course, who needed to forge his own path and could use all the support he could get. "It’s just—you wouldn’t want to stay."

Lilia didn’t seem to understand what she was trying to tell her, just waved her hand, in that dismissive gesture of hers, "There’s no reason he can’t come with, of course."

"Of course," Minako echoed, and tried not to feel down that no such offer had been extended to her. 

"The Tokyo ballet would love to have me on for longer, too, they’ve been badgering my poor assistant—he’s had to hire a Japanese translator," Lilia continued spitballing different ideas, that seemed to exclude Minako quite deliberately. Minako poured herself a cup of tea, and sipped it slowly, why Lilia was thinking out loud about trainers who’d take on Yuuri and would do well with him.

"Excuse me," she said, and left for the bathroom. It was her own fault of course. She’d thought introducing Lilia to Yuuri would make her more inclined to visit more often, to interest her in Minako’s own accomplishments, perhaps—and now she didn’t know why she had thought that, since she had never been interested in coaching Yuuri herself. She didn’t think she’d be helpful, in an entirely different field from her own, one that was treated as a sport, and not an art form, even though it was both, just like ballet.

It was okay; she had survived leaving Lilia once, she could do it again. She just—was not going to be able to deal with another rejection speech, yet another speech about a man, a boy this time, who needed Lilia more. (And it might have even been true, who cared, Minako didn’t need Lilia, but oh gods, she wanted her.)

Minako splashed water into her face, and went back into the kitchen.

"And then — then, he winked at the camera!" Yuuri finished his complaint about the perfection that was Victor.

"His hair is ridiculous," Lilia said. She poured herself another glass of vodka. "It should not be allowed on a human being." Minako had the impression that Yuuri and Lilia were having two different conversation. It was very amusing.

"It is so pretty," Yuuri sighed. "Silky, and flowing. And so so shiny. And when it swishes!" He made a wide, swooping gesture that missed the bottle of vodka just barely.

Lilia threw the shot down her throat and swallowed. Her face betrayed no emotion. "We should make them eat the dirt underneath our souls," she told Yuuri who looked entranced. "We should bury their hearts in a chest and pierce them with our spears."

Yuuri nodded, displaying disproportionate excitement. Minako had never seen him this excited about anything. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to not have a long term relationship with Lilia. Maybe she could be happy, remaining the booty call — she was very good at sex, after all.

"I think that’s enough alcohol for you," Minako said, and grabbed the bottle of vodka quickly. "You are starting to mix your metaphors." Lilia grabbed the empty air in front of the bottle, and squinted.

Minako tried not to find that endearing. "And you! You shouldn’t encourage her! Pulling hearts out of chests!"

"But then Victor’s heart would be mine," Yuuri said, and his grin was alarmingly bloodthirsty. Clearly, it was time to stop them from conspiring further.

"To bed! Both of you," Minako said, and pulled her spare futon out of the closet. "I’ll call your mom and tell her you stayed over. I cannot — in good conscience— let you get home in this state. It’s like you got drunk on the fumes!"

When everything had been arranged to Minako’s satisfaction, Lilia was already in bed. She seemed exhausted, and not up for a round of making out, even though she tried valiantly— her eyes kept closing, and her mouth was slacker than usual.

"Why don’t we go to sleep," Minako said, stroking to curve of her breasts lightly. Lilia murmured an agreement, halfheartedly. Minako’s breastbone kept aching—a psychosomatic sort of pain that was symptom of a larger issue that Minako didn’t want to talk about right now. When Minako kissed her nape, Lilia was already mostly asleep. "You’ll be the death of me," she whispered.

Lilia murmured something in reply into her pillow, but Minako didn’t catch it. Lilia was warm and her presence comforting, and even with the faint melancholy that had griped her suddenly, Minako fell asleep quickly.

 

They never did have that overdue conversation. Instead, Lilia badgered the Japanese Skating Organisation into certifying her as a choreographer, and promptly signed up on Yuuri’s team. She refused to work on anyone else’s choreography.

Minako fielded quite a few calls from the Tokyo Ballet’s upper management, on what she thought might entice Lilia Baranovskaya to stay longer in Japan, if she could be persuaded somehow to lead a few workshops while she was here, and if there was a possibility of Minako moving to Tokyo for easier access.

Minako would have found it insulting of her own efforts and talents, if each of Lilia’s engagements hadn’t come with— "and your presence would be greatly appreciated as well, Okukawa-sama, though you’re always so busy!"

Somehow, the figure skating season started, and Lilia was still sleeping in Minako’s bed. Sometimes, she even bought groceries, and letters from various ballet companies and private citizens showed up on Minako’s doorstep, and whenever they needed to be stamped, none of the delivery people complained when it was Minako’s stamp. It was bewildering, and Minako didn’t know how to question it without scaring Lilia away. She wanted her to stay, desperately.

And so it went. Lilia signed up as an official figure skating trainer, or at least an official choreographer. Yuuri’s other trainer was a tad bit intimidated by her, and let her take over most of the practice. He was still coordinating the on-ice training, but Lilia had taken over the off-ice training, as it was very similar to training ballet dancers in jumps. (They usually didn’t have quite as many rotations.) 

Yuuri was improving leaps and bounds on an artistic level, and on a technical level, his perfectionist tendencies serving him well in training. When Yuuri managed to scrape a qualification to the Grand Prix event in Fukuoka, Lilia made the mistake of contemplating her travel arrangements to Sochi in 2014, and promptly Yuuri’s performances started fluctuating.

Minako could hear her talk with Yuuri often, and it was quite as bewildering the subsequent times. "Think of his heart," she heard, once, when she stumbled into a conversation in her kitchen. "How it will feel underneath your fingers, how you can tear it out with not much effort at all," and promptly left them to their own devices. Lilia probably wouldn’t condone actual murder. It seemed to focus Yuuri, though, a skill Minako had never learned, and so she went into the kitchen not to interrupt them, but to press a kiss against Lilia's elegant neckline, and hold her hand until she felt secure in herself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Victor and Yuuri meet! Will it end with hearts being rendered?


	4. Interlude: Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grand Prix Final, Fukuoka 2013/14. Yakov thinks that Lilia had been put on this Earth to annoy him, and she's trying to prove him right.
> 
> Alternative Title: Coming Out With A Blast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Interlude sadly does not contain any Minako/Lilia scenes, though they definitely did the do behind the bleachers :D Hope you enjoy anyway!

Victor looked at the scoring table again. He had hypnotised it yesterday, because he’d broken his own world record again, as you do, and he’d been busy celebrating his success. He would have liked to study his competition more in-depth, but his skates had taken a side trip to Honolulu, and it was a wonder they got back to him in time for the competition, leaving no space to think about his competitors.

There was a relatively large span between him and his next competitor: JJ was good, but he always lost points on the freeskate, and not even the new scoring system would help him there. Then came Matshida Yuzuru, the Japanese skater who had already announced his retirement after the Olympics. He was finishing strong, and would sweep the competition if Victor would let him. Victor had no intention of doing so. Chris was on fourth, but only 2 points behind JJ. Fifth came a Japanese skater Victor had never heard of, and also never seen skate before, since he’d only moved up for the Grand Prix Final because Oda Tatsuki had to withdraw because of an injury, and then there was Georgi, who had skated his personal best, and yet had still somehow managed to place last.

The freeskate could only be very, very interesting, with less than 8 points to give between 1st and last place.

Yakov was yammering on about something or another again. The familiar routine was comforting, even though he was complaining about Victor substituting his triple flip for a quadruple flip again—whatever, Victor had a new world record for best short skate program. Yakov might even be doing his routine out of relief, that Victor had managed to skate his program that well even without the additional warmup everyone else could take.

Instead, he was watching Chris flirt with yet another new Japanese skater— this might even be a good contender for a medal, if he continued with his good performance in the free skate. The 8 point difference could reshuffle the leading board entirely. Historically, Chris would do better at his freeskate, the stamina to do higher jumps in the later half was what kept him so consistently close to Victor in scoring.

Victor would keep being annoyed at his continuing use of his "sexiness" to set up his skates, no matter what. He doubted the judges would reward the artistic license Chris kept using. If he wanted to score consistently better, he should try portraying a different type. He should try surprising the audience, instead of playing it. Alas, Victor wasn’t Chris’s coach, and while he could say a lot of things to Chris, it went into one ear, and out of the other.

He sighed, and looked over to Yakov again. There was Georgi being nauseating with Anya, the Canadian lounging across half the rink with his obnoxious booming voice, the other Japanese skater that had already announced his retirement before the competition talking with one of the coaching staff—and then his gaze hung at the familiar figure he hadn’t been expecting. He sat up.

Yakov, who had expected his student to ignore him forever, stopped babbling, and asked, "What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you want to switch over to jump your quadruple flip as the ending again—it’s going to mess up your tendons in the long term, and I don’t really think it will matter that much if you switch it up for one skate—"

Victor was too baffled to insult that with the most blinding smile he could muster, and instead pointed his coach towards the lone figure at the side of the rink, clad in an exorbitantly expensive coat with the haughty demeanour to match. "Is that Lilia, or have my eyes gotten worse?" he asked.

"Your eyes have gone worse," Yakov said, with firm certainty, and then looked towards where Victor had been pointing. He swallowed back the ending of his sentence. His eyes had grown comically large. "What’s she doing here?"

He said it in the same voice he’d mention Putin, and because of reasons, Yakov mentioned Putin often. Usually it was things you couldn’t repeat in the privacy of your hotel room for fear the KGB would storm in and arrest you.

It was a bit weird, since Lilia hadn't even done half as much shit as Putin had, and it was mostly Yakov's own fault that they weren't married anymore. Still, Victor couldn't image a type of situation that would lead to Lilia voluntarily coming to search out a place of her ex-husband’s triumph, without a hell of a lot pleading done by him beforehand.

"We should go to her and find out!" Victor said, and couldn't entirely hide his excitement.

"Absolutely not!" Yakov protested, but Victor had long experience in ignoring what Yakov said, and usually it led to a much more exciting day. Victor was determined, and so he went.

"Lilia!" he shouted across the entire rink, and then he saw the Japanese skater he'd seen flirting with Chris get back to her, and oh. Suddenly everything became clear.

"Long time no see," Lilia Baranovskaya said. Her voice was dirt-dry, unexpectedly casual, and it made Victor feel like a rough, unprepared junior again. "What a pleasure it is to see you do well with the talents I have instilled in you."

It was neutral enough that Victor could have taken it as a compliment. He didn't know why he flinched instead. He hadn't been the person to cheat on her, but somehow, even more than 10 years later, he felt responsible for the ending of their marriage.

The skater she had come with (had she come with the skater, or were they perhaps otherwise acquainted? he must have been younger than Victor, since he'd never seen him before) was standing diagonally behind her, like a medieval page behind the knight who was training him. It felt very appropriate.

"What are you doing here?" Victor asked. He might have been slightly hurt that Lilia wasn't going to mention his new world record, but then again, she was never one to praise him about his accomplishments-- Lilia would compliment more subtly than that. She’d make every compliment feel like a proper accomplishment. One time, she'd said Victors plies were passable, and he'd _cried_.

"I found a figure skater who will listen to my wisdom," Lilia said.

Victor opened his mouth. He was going to protest, but really, that was entirely fair, Victor hadn't listened to wisdom once in his entire life. He closed his mouth again, only to open his mouth to ask who the skater was, and why it was him who had gotten to her, but Yakov came him before.

"Who's the twerp?" Yakov huffed from behind of him. Their positions was strangely mirrored—Lilia shielding the young skater with her presence, and Victor shielding Yakov from Lilia's wrath—but really, he wanted to be anywhere else. Hadn't he wished for less boredom only minutes earlier? Victor never did what was good for himself.

He'd let the old couple reconnect, and sidled towards the skater. "Hi!" he said cheerfully. "I'm Victor Nikiforov! And who are you?"

The skater looked at his hands, and the moment stretched, until Victor took his hand back. That was of course, when simultaneously, Yakov shouted, loudly "You can't do that!" and the ice centre announced over the speaker system the opening of the ice after the zamboni had one last run through.

The competition was starting. The skater looked back up at him, and Victor smiled, "Good luck during your free skate!"

Lilia said, furiously, but much more contained than Yakov, "Well, watch me," and flounced. It was still unnaturally loud.

The Japanese skater had finally found his voice and said, "I am going to steal your soul!" It echoed, in the sudden quiet of the pause between loudspeaker announcements. Victor could practically hear the headlines being written. It was out of the left field, completely unpredictable.He didn’t know what he had done to the younger skater to make him so furious.

Victor was watching, baffled and wide-eyed, as the skater turned around and left with Lilia.

His coach, Lilia Baranovskaya, prima ballerina of the Russian National Ballet. He shook his head. Yakov took the opportunity of his distraction to manoeuvre him into an alcove.

"She's only doing this to knock you off your game," Yakov said, and Victor nodded, even though he didn't understand why Lilia would want to knock him off his game. Lilia would prefer it much more to have him at the top of his game, and still knocked down— that way laid humility, she said.

And it was important to suffer for your art, Lilia had always said.

It's been a long time, since Victor really suffered for his art—coincidentally, the last time must have been when Lilia demanded he change his choreography to something that would strain him a lot more. It had been her idea in the first place, to finish on a quadruple flip, not that he'd ever told Yakov that. He had already been wary about putting further pressure on their marriage, back then.

"This is her revenge against me," Yakov continued more darkly. This time, Victor didn't nod. He didn't think so—at least he didn't think Lilia would act primarily out of revenge. That was not her style or she would have taken Yakov's Ice Palace with her, with all his other real estate property. But no, she had left him all the accessories he needed to do his job well.

Lilia wouldn't do underhanded revenge. She'd want you to run straight into your own doom instead.

He could see Lilia from here; Yakov on the other side of him wouldn't be able to see her, couldn't see that instead of listening to him he was watching Lilia.

She was in the company of the Japanese skater, who seemed to have an official coach from the Japanese Federation of figure skaters but listened to Lilia much more intently than that.

And what kind of declaration had that been? Victor was very intrigued. He couldn't wait to watch his skating more intently— he'd gone later than all of the other's in his short skate, and hadn't watched the other performances, had just heard the scores.Would he be skating to the Japanese type? Would he be a power house with stamina, or excel at footwork? What had interested Lilia in him above all other skaters?

He hadn't even introduced himself. Victor tried hypnotising him into looking over, but apparently he was less interesting than the score board showing the results of the short skate. Victor looked at it himself, tried deciphering the name, but it was always such a gamble, pronouncing foreign names. It was much better to be introduced to them personally, so that you didn't repeat a mangled name.

There was a brief intense conversation, in which neither of them looked towards Victor, and they should have, since he was the one to beat. They looked engrossed in their thoughts, just like they should have been, as Victor should have been engrossed in what Yakov was telling him.

Then, of course, the skating began, and Victor had to refocus, try to bring back his thoughts onto expressing his art, during which he only wanted to go over to Lilia Baranovskaya and ask her what she saw in this guy's skating-- and Victor thought, yes, absolutely, she could have only done this so that you are distracted, because her ultimate goal is humiliating Yakov, as much as he humiliated her.

But that was not true. Victor knew better than to believe that. That was Yakov's bitterness talking. Lilia would never do something out of spite that she couldn't stand behind in her entirety, because that was who she was as a person, as an artist.

Victor looked down on his skates, and re-laced the fastenings. Sometimes, he wished his skates were less sharp, like they used to have them during the winter's in St. Petersburg. Now, during world skating events, he had them resharpened, for the better edge on the ice-- it led to more power in your jumps and evened out some of the negative side-effects of performing with such pressure. But he was glad they had turned up in time for the competition, was glad they had turned back up at all—there was no worse thing than breaking in new skates.

Sometimes, Victor missed the feeling of friction. He looked over to Lilia again. She wouldn't want him to skate with more in his head than usual, and so he wouldn't.

Lilia still hadn't looked over to him, but now she had another person next to her, a slight Japanese woman. Another figure skating coach? A relative of the skater? Either way, Lilia was standing very close to her, considering she usually kept people at a distance.

Chris was announced, stepped on the ice. Victor had seen his skate already, at Skate America, and placed first to Chris's third. He wasn't worried about the competition—Chris was serving a different niche, and serving it well, but he would never have the performance instincts to invent himself new every time. Judges would vote for interesting over anything else, even with the new scoring system. He was playing the spectators, playing to the judges, and Victor contemplated making a program even half as risqué, but there was a reason he hadn't, and he wasn't going to—Victor was a romantic at heart, even though everyone complained about him breaking hearts all the time. Chris falls on his triple-triple combination jump. It's not world-ending, especially since he's going first and the other's might as well do worse. It's not going to net him first place, though, with both JJ and Victor still skating.

And who knew about the two Japanese skaters— the Japanese skating organisation would be sending three figure skaters to the Olympics for each of the competition types. They could still come from behind, this being such a close competition. Victor tried to remember the last time he had only 20 points difference to the last place, and couldn't find any. Rostelecom Cup, he had won with more than 30 points difference to his second place.

Then again, Victor had spent the early days of the competition frantically trying to find his skates, which had landed in Honolulu for some reason. He'd missed the first training skate, but luckily was allowed to use the ice at the rink Yakov had found for him: this competition hadn’t started under a good star. But now he was still in first place, the defending two-times champion, and he would skate his heart out.

Chris finished, literally and figuratively to judge from the face he was making. Not a bad result, but he’d finished better at Europeans. Still behind Victor, though.

And then, square in the middle of the field, Lilia’s Japanese skater stepped onto the ice. Yuuri Katsuki, that’s what he was called.

He had straightened up somewhen between when Victor had registered him, first, and the moment he stepped out, because now his spine was straight, and he was moving like a dancer. Victor should know, because he had to endure countless theory lessons about how to use the ice for optimal performance scores, and to make it look like he was effortlessly gliding on clouds instead of panting on devilishly sharp skates that could behead someone quite easily.

Victor’s posture was sloppy, Lilia always said. 'Victor, you are not thinking your gestures through until the very end,' she’d say and pursue her lips.

When Yuuri Katsuki stepped onto the ice, there were no extraneous gestures. They went fluidly, one into the other, as if every movement was precisely calculated for maximum impact. His skate didn’t have a higher natural score than Victor’s, Yakov had made sure of that. Yet, somehow, watching him, there was a beauty and grace that was mesmerising, that spoke to Victor’s soul. This was a skating program not calculated to win—or at least, not primarily calculated to win, since there was plenty of difficult combinations and jumps.

He would admit his arrogance now, seeing this skater. Sometimes, Victor had the habit of cutting the performance short in the interest of preserving stamina for his later jumps. He had thought that was the name of the game, and scoring would back him every time.

But now, here, seeing Katsuki and the way he finished his arm movement, even if it would make his jumps all the more difficult for it, and yet doing the jumps anyway, he knew what Lilia had been talking about.

Yakov's pre-skating conversation was half-hearted at best, and thoroughly distracted by Lilia, who was peacefully standing at the doorway to the skaters room, coincidentally right in their sightline, but otherwise unobtrusive. Now, she was playing with the hand of the woman next to her. It was an unconscious gesture, not meant to tease—at least that was Victor's charitable interpretation.

Yakov, clearly, took it in a different way, and was fuming.

He was trying his very best to stick to his usual script, was nagging Victor about his flamboyance, the need to quadruple flip the ending, and the usual gossip about the other skaters that Victor thrived on but usually couldn't go and collect directly.

It was a grandiose performance, especially from a newcomer. Especially from someone Victor hadn’t really noticed before. He sidled over to Chris in the Kiss and Cry.

"Oi, where you intimidated by my performance?" Chris called out when he saw him coming. "Did it interrupt your pre-competition ritual?" He made an obscene gesture with only his tongue, but Victor had known him when he was a prepubescent little shit, so it only looked silly.

"Say, Chris," Victor ignored his entire demeanour and focused on the topic he had come here for. "Do you know…" and he makes a gesture to the rink.

Chris understood what he was going for immediately. "Who, Yuuri? Sure! He’s a sweetheart. We meet when he debuted my last year at Juniors."

"Oh," Victor said, because Chris might have stayed in juniors longer than Victor, but Yuuri looked amazing out on the ice, not at all like he had only just graduated Juniors. That was an excellent explanation for why Victor had missed him, though—he hadn’t kept up with Juniors very well.

"He debuted late, you don’t have to worry, he’s definitely legal." Chris said, knowingly, as if he had any idea what Victor was thinking about.

Victor didn’t have it in him to correct Chris’s teasing, especially since cameras were always pointed on the Kiss and Cry. Yuuri, meanwhile, had flown into Lilia’s arms, who was, apparently, not his primary coach, since a different person had accompanied him to the Kiss and Cry. Victor managed to pass him by without rousing his attention.

He looked towards the scoreboard — they were still calculating the actual scores, three Jurors were still reviewing, but that was a very high base score, that was definitely going to beat Chris’s score—and then, the final results were announced.

Victor couldn’t believe it. Someone had broken his world record in the freeskate. The crowd had gone silent during the deliberating, and suddenly he could hear it again, a loud, cacophonous noise penetrating his stupor. This had come out of the left field, and yet he should have been expecting it. His solo runs wouldn’t have lasted forever.

"What a stunning upset! Did you see that?" he could hear a ISU official shout behind him, over the incredible noise of the crowd, and then he arrived at Yakov’s side once more. Someone else had broken his world record for points in the freeskate. He was still trying to process that.

"Where did you go?" Yakov asked, quietly, in deference to the truly incredible thing they had just witnessed, and maybe a bit for reassurance. Yakov was a great coach, for all the nagging he did. "Don’t let it upset you, you know you can skate better than that. You’ve planned to beat your own record again, didn’t you? You just have to aim a bit higher?"

"Upset?" Victor repeated, and yeah, that sounded a bit more hysterical than he had thought. "I’m not upset. This may be the best day of my life!" Someone else had broken his world record in the freeskate.

Yakov’s face did an amazingly terrible impression of a manatee surprised. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Yakov," Victor said. He couldn’t think how to communicate this to Yakov in a way he would understand, and so he took hold of him, held onto his upper arms tightly. "Please, I know it’s the opposite of what you want to do, but can we get him to do an exhibition skate with me?" Yakov’s face was frozen in his stupid surprised face, and maybe Victor wasn’t being fair to his coach. "He said he was going to steal my soul," Victor tried to explain his feelings of elation. "And then, then he sets a new world record! Yakov, please. You must. It is necessary. I want to skate with him."

"You have to skate first," Yakov replied finally.

"I’m still going to win first place," Victor tried to reassure him. "I have my eyes on the prize, I won’t get distracted. But you have to promise me that I get to have an exhibition skate with him."

"How do you expect me to finagle—"

"Yakov," Victor said again.

"Fine," Yakov grumbled. "If you win Worlds, I’ll see what I can do."

"Thank you!" Victor grinned, planted a big fat kiss onto Yakov’s shiny forehead, and stepped out into the ice, right when the announcer called his name.

The feeling of his choreography, which he had felt was going kind of stale since the start of the season, even with the season only barely started, was electrifying. The feeling of the music, the feeling in his heart, his drive, his potential—they all matched up, and drove him to new heights. He thought of Katsuki, and how much he must have put into his performance, to manage to beat him, finally.

Exhausted, but proud, he ended his performance on his signature quadruple flip. He took a breath, and the noise of the crowd crashed back into him. He wasn’t in Russia, but the crowd barely made a difference. He looked up to the score board, and they weren’t finished deliberating. He picked up the blue flowers someone had thrown onto the ice, and with long, languid strokes skated to Yakov.

"They’re reviewing still," Yakov said gruffly. "You’re in first place even so."

"I won’t beat his record," Victor said. He was very certain about that, could feel it with the drum of blood in his veins.

"Well, you’re still in first place," Yakov said, more to reassure himself, than to reassure Victor. Yuuri Katsuki had been 6 points behind him. And hadn’t beaten him in jumps, like JJ sometimes did—he looked up and over, where he was sitting, surrounded by his coaches, and Lilia. He wasn’t looking at Victor, he was looking at the score board, like he couldn’t believe it.

"I want to skate with him," Victor repeated to Yakov. He doubted Yakov had forgotten his plea, but it would only help to remind him again.

Over the loudspeakers, they announced his score. It was three points underneath the new record, and Victor wanted to giggle with relief, and a strange glee. He was third time Grand Prix champion, but someone had beaten his world record. He couldn’t wait for Sochi. Worlds, maybe. Was this how Chris felt every time?

But he really, really, really, wanted that exhibition skate with him.

He made his way towards the Kiss and Cry. Chris was at one side of him, and he barely heard his acknowledgement. Then, there was Yuuri Katsuki. When he looked up, finally, his eyes were mesmerising.

Victor could only stare. He could feel the angry passion in his eyes, directed at him. Victor wanted to preen, wanted to smirk, wanted to taunt—but he also wanted to hug this wondrous creature who had emerged out of the Japanese figure skating world like a sparkling unicorn Victor hadn’t thought could exist anymore, and beaten his world record. It was like a kick in the butt, at the exact moment Victor had needed it the most.

He didn’t think he could convey this to Katsuki with only his eyes, especially as their coaches were technically, probably, feuding still.

Case in point — "Congratulations, Yakov," Lilia said, and her voice couldn’t have been more frosty. "I see you’re still managing to skate by on my successes."

Victor was still partly mesmerised by Katsuki’s expressive eyes, at least that was how he later explained to himself why he didn’t stop Yakov, who took the insult very personally, and told Lilia, "The only reason you could even get him this far, is because of the money you sucked out of my pocket."

The gauntlet had been thrown. The cameras were pointed right at the Kiss and Cry, since thespirits and tempers of figure skaters were notoriously heated after skating their hearts out. In this case, they did not only manage to catch the faces of the figure skaters, but also the raised tempers of old ex-spouses meeting each other in a new arena.

"Say that to my face," Lilia replied.

"I just said it to your face," Yakov said, red in the face. "Maybe you can’t hear dissident opinion from all the politicians’ ass you have crawled into!"

"At least I didn’t have to pay to get my cock sucked!" Lilia didn’t yell, she would have never approved of yelling. But she certainly wouldn’t have approved of her word choice either. Victor wasn’t sure they were aware of where they were anymore.

"You don’t even have a cock!" Yakov yelled back.

That was the clip that would be replayed at every news station later. They would show Victor’s red face, Yuuri Katsuki’s wide eyes, and in the background another one of the coaches, holding a hand in front of her face, her eyes teary.

Yakov didn’t have a chance to ask for that exhibition skate, and when Victor tried to remedy the situation himself, he stumbled across Lilia with her pants down in the locker room in an intimate position with just that coach, and he decided to leave before there was yet another news story that wouldn’t be about figure skating.


	5. Finish the Fight

Minako pulled Lilia behind the door to one of the locker rooms to get them out of the rush. The outside was busy but inside, the room was quiet and calm. A live feed was running with the volume down but otherwise, it was empty of people, perfect for what Minako had wanted to do all day.

Lilia studied her as if she expected Minako to be upset about what she'd done, her face impenetrable but searching. It wasn't Minako's place to judge, now, was it, after all the stupid shit she'd done in the name of love. Somehow, after pulling Lilia off her ex-husband in front of a lot of cameras, at the most watched event of the figure skating season (barring the coming Winter Olympics, maybe) Minako didn’t feel like asking what she had thought she was doing. Clearly, she hadn’t been. What she wanted to do instead was to mess up her impeccable attire, maybe even coax out some emotions from behind the calm facade. 

"What," Lilia grumbled at her smile.

Minako shifted closer until she could easily reach her cheek with a hand, and said in a moment of recklessness— in English, because neither Russian nor Japanese conveyed quite what she meant, "I love you."

She didn’t let her get a word in edgewise, simply pressed a kiss against her lips. They were slightly chapped from the dry air of the heating, and Minako thought about the chapstick in her purse. It would taste absolutely delicious off of Lilia’s lips. She was very warm, as always, and despite the long day, still smelled good.

In a different language, the words weren't quite the revelation that they would be in any other context. Her heart didn’t care about rationalising the confession away. Maybe it wasn’t a romantic setting, but she couldn’t help loving Lilia. It was written into her entire being—she had loved her since the first time she had seen Lilia on stage, she had loved her from the back of the corps de ballet, all the way through their first affair and their eventual parting. There was a time for sentimentality, and today probably wasn’t. Part of her wished she could take back her words but nothing in her found them a lie, and perhaps it was better to have them out in the open. Nonetheless, it was terrifying.

"What was that for," Lilia said against her lips, and then didn’t wait for an answer—how typical!—but instead dove back in. She didn't say it back and why should she, when Minako had surprised her so. Neither of them were prone to sudden flights of fancy. It was quite funny, in a way, that it was Minako who was overwhelmed to the point of declarations of intent, when it hadn't been in the past.

The next ten minutes were spent reacquainting themselves with the fine art of kissing, while the TV in the background was running an exciting news coverage about the two ex-spouses who had gotten into a catfight in front of the cameras. It didn’t matter at all, in the larger view of things.

Minako had to grin again. It was disrupting the flow of their tongues, meant that there was now a bit of space between them. Lilia squeezed her butt in retaliation. It wasn’t much of a punishment. Minako hitched herself up on the nearby table, tugged her closer again, and pressed closer to Lilia wrapping her thighs around her. Lilia was so tall and full of strength—she felt amazing. She could feel her curves, her small but still perky breasts, could fantasize about worshipping them, and having Lilia all to herself.

"Come on," Lilia said, and slipped a hand beneath her sweater. Her hands were warm, hot-blooded from her temper tantrum. "Tell me why you’re laughing."

Minako smiled up at her. "You told your husband you didn’t have to pay to get your cock sucked." It would always be hilarious, and the thought made her giggle again.

Lilia grimaced, but then had to laugh herself. "I did, didn’t I?" she said.

"Did you see his face," Minako said, still giggling. "He was so perplexed. I want to—there’s got to be so many gifs of that. I hope the internet is going wild."

"What do you know about the internet," Lilia asked her. She was still smiling, even if she looked like she was regretting saying anything to her ex-husband.

"He yelled across the entire Kiss and Cry that you don’t have a cock," Minako repeated, because she couldn’t get over it, and Lilia didn’t seem to realise how over-the-top ridiculous it was, to hold a conversation like that in public, while cameras were rolling.

Lilia smiled at her indulgently. "It was a fight we were long overdue in having," she said, finally, enveloping Minako’s nape with her hand. "I was too reasonable when I left, and Yakov didn’t understand how angry I was, even though we were—had been—are friendly. Needed to be friendly, at least in the public eye."

"What changed?" Minako asked, and the giggling stuck in her throat from the tender way Lilia caressed her. She felt restless, as if she had to have Lilia immediately. It had been a long time since Minako felt so driven by passion. She had thought her emotional years behind her, longing for something that always seemed just out of her reach. Now she felt that way, even with Lilia in her arms, even with Lilia kissing her; and she wondered how she could have ever thought her heartache couldn’t get worse. Because it was worse, having her here like this, laughing and kissing, knowing she would leave again anyway.

Lilia kissed her with abandon, as if they weren’t hiding in a side-room from the press that would surely love their soundbites on Yuuri’s performance, on Yuuri’s unexpected world record.

And Minako had it all, hadn’t she? A brilliant student, a brilliant lover, and a satisfying experience with a person on which she held a long-time, if petty, grudge.

Minako breathed her in, sank against her steady frame. Marry me, she thought but didn’t say out loud. I love you, she didn’t even dare to think, not in Japanese, not when it might have meant more to her than it already fucking did. Lilia was perfect, and she’d be fine letting her leave, Minako lied to herself.

She was in her arms, and that had to be enough. The hug went on, and Lilia didn’t seem inclined to let her go, and Minako wasn’t inclined to let her.

When Lilia started playing with the edge of her blouse, dipping her fingers lower and meeting the softer skin, Minako shivered. She wanted this, more than anything in the world. But maybe it wasn’t the time or the location to do this. They were here for Yuuri, and even though the competition part had ended, they’d need to present a united front—Yuuri might even get a good sponsor. Minako hoped for Misura, personally.

Of course, this was when the voice of Yakov interrupted their byplay. "A stroke of luck," he answered loudly and abruptly the question that had been asked his student, and when Minako looked up she could see him pull a bright-eyed Victor from the cameras. "Victor, of course, wouldn't let himself be distracted by his world record being broken and rallied his nerves very reliably. It's in the nature of the sport that sometimes the underdog manages to surprise. It will only spur Victor to greater heights--competition is why we are here, after all."

"Are you going to congratulate your ex-wife on her coaching skills? Will we perhaps be seeing a collaboration with the both of you, since you have a shared past?"

"No," Yakov said very abruptly, and loomed ominously in the small screen at the back of the lounge. "To both of those."

"So you were as surprised as the rest of the world to see your wife coach your student's rival?" another journalist asked. Like Minako had predicted, it was the news of the season, even though Lilia's coaching credentials had been published at the ISU website for over 5 months now, and they hadn't kept her involvement quiet, at all. There were only so many people who regularly stopped by the boards, and the mayor news outlets had been taken by surprise. Lilia had said earlier that nobody must have known how to bring it to Yakov's attention gently, and so they hadn't tried at all.

Lilia groaned into Minako's neck in a very unsexy way, and Minako wrapped her hands around her waist tighter, holding on for more of a comforting hug. "I told you this was going to happen," Minako said. Lilia, if possible, groaned louder. "We should go out and stand against the inquisition," she continued her persuasion. She could feel Lilia's eyelashes against her naked skin, and it made her think of all the more pleasurable things they could spend their time with. It would only push the inevitable further away, and give Yakov the starting advantage.

Lilia straightened herself, pressed a kiss against Minako's collarbone. Then, she laid her hands on Minako's, slowly disentangled them. "You were right," she said. "You are right. We should go out and face the music."

"A speciality of yours," Minako said, and grinned to encourage her. "You were always best at moving the music to your purpose."

Lilia squared up, brushing a few unseen wrinkles out of the collar of her shirt—she didn't look like she'd spent the last few minutes snogging, but then again, she used to look perfectly made up even in the throws of orgasm. "How's it?" she asked Minako.

Minako helped her close the last open button, then smiled at her, "Perfect."

Lilia's mouth turned up slightly, and in turning away from her, Lilia slapped her butt. Before Minako could even squawk in outrage, Lilia's long strides had taken her out of the room, and Minako had to hurry to catch up with her.

* * *

Yuuri was sitting in a corner next to the bathroom, and had been parked there by the actual coach for no apparent reason. It was rather unwise of the coach to leave him out in the open like that. A small wonder that none of the journalists had found him there—then again Yuuri’s presence on ice was very different from his off-ice persona, and people probably had just walked by him without realising that he was the one who had just broken a world record. He looked up with bloodshot eyes when they approached.

"Was that real," he asked, and his voice is strangely wooden. "Coach-san went to get me something to eat—" he answered Minako's unasked question when she touched his arm to figure out if he was shaking from exhaustion or something else. It was as good an explanation as anything, because even if Coach-san repeated exactly what Yuuri believed, he'd find a way to turn it into the opposite. Yuuri hadn't really found his way with the coach from the Japanese Skating federation yet, and it was really starting to chafe even at Minako. She wondered if they would be allowed to move to train in a different country— the US, maybe, or Russia. Germany, perhaps? They were always looking to fill their arenas with more skaters, and even though none of them were Yuuri's competition, that could only help.

"Yes, that was real," Lilia said in her driest voice. "You can find it on the ISU website, now, too, if you don't believe your eyes or me. A pity you couldn't have gotten 4 more points in the short skate or you'd have beaten Victor for real."

Yuuri—who had been white before, and okay, sometimes Coach-san was useful, if only as an errant boy—turned bright red. "I- I— couldn't have," he stammered.

Lilia pursued her lips. She was trying to hide her smile, Minako could see that, but Yuuri probably wasn't so finely tuned to her micro-expressions. "Like I said," Lilia said. "A pity you couldn't have gotten 4 more points. How do your feet feel?"

"Numb," Yuuri said, and accepted her hand getting to his feet.

Coach-san arrived with a sandwich, and bowed in front of Lilia like the bootlicker he was. Minako disliked him violently. (It was perhaps less about his coaching abilities than his simpering adoration of Lilia Baranovskaya, but she only admitted that to herself in private. Really, all her negative thoughts about him could be followed back to the distinct impression that he was trying to encroach on her property--and it wasn't even her property to boot. Minako's life was hard, truly.) "I'm very sorry, I only found chicken sandwich," he said more to Lilia than to Yuuri, whose actual sandwich it was.

Lilia waved him away with a gesture of her hand. "Knees?" she continued with their ritual.

"Sore," Yuuri admitted.

"And your back?"

Yuuri rolled his shoulders back, and automatically straightened into a more pleasing position to the eye.

"It feels tight," he said.

"Well, then. You know what we have to do," Lilia said. "First the press, then an appointment with the chiropractor."

"Do we have to," Yuuri said with a whine, but he did so very quietly.

Lilia poked a long finger into the space between his shoulder place. "Yes," she said firmly. "Also, we need to prepare ourselves for the gala tonight. Do not wear the same tie you did yesterday."

And then they arrived at the press circle, and could not bicker over the choice of tie any longer, as they had the entire plane ride over. Yuuri could have just said nothing, and Lilia wouldn’t have become fixated on dictating his every appearance but he had started arguing and so Lilia had made it into her personal mission to get him out of his oversized suits he’d perhaps grow into and into something tailored. Minako rolled her eyes, and then noticed Yakov, who was trying to kill their group with the power of his eyes. The journalist swarmed around them, and Minako lost eye-contact when one asked Yuuri, "How do you feel about beating Victor Nikiforov’s world record?"

Minako remembered her first time facing the press. A similar look of frightened disbelief could be seen on Yuuri's face now, even if the interviewer asked him a d question about his favourite topic. Yuuri blinks into the cameras. "Good?" he answers in an obvious question.

The interviewer, clearly having expected more, pushed forward for a follow-up question. "Can we expect you to beat Victor Nikiforov's winning streak at the Olympics, perhaps? This is your debut year after all-- what do you think Victor Nikiforov's chances are at taking Gold at the Olympics?"

Yuuri, who hadn't even qualified for the Olympics yet, as far as Minako was concerned, and certainly the Japanese federation had its choice from an excellent pool of worldclass skaters—Yuuri had only barely scraped by a qualification for the Grand Prix and was definitely lucky to have been counted as an underdog—he could have finished just as well under "also skating" as far as anyone was concerned. "I think his chances are pretty good?" he said again with his questioning lilt, and Minako made a note to speak about that. He could get away with it now, but once he’d been on the podium once or twice an attitude like that was no longer charming.

"Is that a taunt?" a different reporter said, in English but with a heavy accent Minako recognised immediately.

"I mean," Yuuri said and hunched in on himself. Minako was glad he hadn't stuttered. "Victor will be skating on his home turf, and of course he's starting out with a win here. He has the advantage."

This didn't seem to play into any of their preferred narratives, and Minako was about to take a deep, relieved breath, when the lull in clamour gave way to reveal a tall, grey-haired figure skater who was giving his own interview to the press. He laughed his bell-like laugh, catching the attention of many around him, then said, very clearly so that it was audible even the 20 meters away where Yuuri and Minako were standing, "Well, we'll see if he can withstand the pressure. He's awfully inexperienced in the international league, and that can be quite a hindrance when you compete in a competition as prestigious as the olympics. And of course it's Sochi—the Russian team will certainly have the home turf advantage!"

Yuuri, of course, caught the byplay as well as Minako did. Sometimes, she really wished Yuuri was the doormat his sister saw him as, because his eyes grew more determined before her eyes, and he turned back around to the journalist who had first asked him questions. "You know what," he told him, finding his inner confidence. "I am going to beat Victor Nikiforov at the Olympics after all. He's taken the sport by storm of course, and I admire his long and varied competition skills, but he's getting older every day, and competing from a young age really takes it out of your body-- I mean, he seems to grow bald, even..."

The interviewer perked up immediately, and led Yuuri into more and more soundbites about how Victor Nikiforov was almost at the end of his life, feeble and injury-ridden. Minako could hear Yakov fuming in the background.

It really was masterfully done.

Minako looked towards Lilia, whose face was blank and bland. Her makeup was still perfect, even after their brief make-out session. She looked as perfectly composed as always, but she couldn't conceal the small tremble of her hands. Lilia was delighted by this turn of events.

Minako stepped closer, casually brought her hand forward, and entwined their pinkies together. Nobody was focused on them, they might have as well been invisible in the face of this drama that was enfolding in front of him.

"Do you think Yuuri will qualify for the Olympics?" Minako asked.

"The Japanese figure skating federation would be stupid if they didn't bow to this sort of publicity," Lilia said, drily.

"Did you plan this?" Minako asked, feeling stupid.

"Not exactly like this," Lilia admitted. "But I had a plan like this in the back of my mind--especially if Yuuri hadn't done so well in the free skate."

"Do you think the stunning upset was due to Lilia Baranovkaya’s choreography, and what are your thoughts on your ex-wife taking her talents elsewhere?"

"She’s not taking her talents elsewhere!" Yakov exploded, and Minako could see Victor Nikiforov hanging on his arm—a curious gesture, since it was the reverse of their usual dynamic. She had to smile for that image alone, since, really, Lilia Baranovskaya choreographing for a different skater must be stinging quite a lot—especially since that skater promptly broke a world record.

"Who’s a dime-a-dozen skater now, Yuuri," she nudge the person who had made this stunning upset possible.

"Still me," he said. Because of course he did. "Matshida Yuzuru could have beaten me with that choreography."

"You’re an idiot if you believe that," Lilia said. "He doesn’t have half your stamina, there’s no way he could have kept up the high PCS and the jumps in the later half. Your sense of rhythm is excellent, I’d say even superior to—" she broke off, when a reporter had fought through the throng in front of them to push a microphone in front of her face.

"And what do you say to the accusations of treachery from your ex-husband?"

"Madam Baranovskaya! Did you know that the base score of your freeskate would be higher than the freeskate your husband choreographed?"

There were a few other questions, shouted loudly on top of each other, until none of them were audible. The noise-level was cacophonous but nothing the prima ballerina of the Bolshoi wasn’t used to. Her face was foreboding in the face of the more brazen questions and yet her spine was straight and she commanded the crowd with the aplomb of a professional performer.

Security cleared the area for them, and Lilia answered none of their questions. She clearly read the statement the entire training staff had prepared—then added a line about Yakov clearly being afraid of strong competition because his own choreography skills were only a poor copy of hers.

This was, of course, untrue for all the technical details. Yakov was a figure skater, and knew what worked for figure skating, whereas Lilia had to learn to develop that instinct and had had to train hard to make skateable choreographies — but it wasn’t like the journalists cared to make that distinction. It would make the gossip that much more juicy.

 

From the chiropractor, Lilia took Yuuri directly back to the hotel to "freshen him up for the banquet". Minako followed along, rather bemused by the entire production.

She’d never have thought the fancy get-togethers as important as the performance on ice. Lilia, however, was of the opinion that Yuuri should be cozying up to plenty of sponsors because the Japanese Skating Federation paid a pittance and he could get more out of someone who appreciated his art. She’d had taken Yuuri to the tailor, even, with his old suit, and had it adjusted to his body. He did look very elegant in the cheap suit, now, wearing a sparkly tie and shoes that actually fit him.

Minako was wearing an older dress—vintage, now, with a high neck and easy flowing fabric down to her heels— her hair up, and her lips in a deep red. It was nothing fancy, especially not compared to Lilia Baranovskaya who could turn up in nothing less than haute-couture Valentino modelled after her most famous swan role. Minako would be envious, if she wasn’t the only one who could throw her leg up to her head dressed like she was.

Lilia was giving her protegé last advice. "Don’t drink too much, don’t overeat, and for goodness sake, don’t do anything that will land on myspace or whatever you youngsters use now."

"Youtube," Yuuri said. Then, less certain, "Vine?"

Minako couldn’t help but scoff. "Both of you are too busy training to know anything about social networks, and you just have to live with that," she said, and hugged Lilia from behind. The material of her dress felt just as silky smooth as it looked, and her hand glided across her sides down to the curve of her ass.

It netted her a cross look. "Will you stop that," Lilia expressed her disapproval sharply. Minako grinned at her, glad at her company and everything, but kept her hands to herself. A few minutes later, it was Lilia who stretched out her fingers. Her hand was softer than usual after the gruelling manicure she subjected them to, and looked soft and supple. When Lilia’s fingers slid into hers, they were warm. Minako felt a shiver running down her spine.

"Why do I have to go with you, anyway," Yuuri grumbled in Japanese. "You’re embarrassing. Why am I getting all the warnings about public displays of affection, when you’re the ones being all over each other? I’m not going there to date."

Lilia ruffled through his hair with her unoccupied hand. Somehow, after she was done, Yuuri’s hair looked even more artfully dishevelled than it had before. "Yes, yes," she said, while patting his cheek. It looked like she was dealing with a favoured pet, not an actual human being. "You are allowed to find someone to flirt with, my dear, as long as you keep it away from the advertisers."

Yuuri grimaced, much like Minako would have done during her heyday when somebody would allow her to go out and have fun. "I’m not going to do that," he said and more fool Minako since she believed him.

After the three of them had made their rounds and introduced themselves to the organisers, the big names, and whoever else Lilia recognised and steered them towards, Yuuri did leave them to enjoy himself with his other competitors.

Minako watched him approach the only two other Japanese ice skaters present—Mao Suzuki and Akiko Asada— and start a conversation, all by himself. It was weird watching him, the small boy she had started teaching ballet because he stumbled after his much older sister overlaying with the handsome young man he was coming to be.

Next to her, Lilia grumbled about the music choices—a generic mix of Top Charts and nostalgic oldies remixed with a beat managing to make 'I Will Always Love You' sound the same as 'Radioactive'. As usual, everything was English though Minako had heard one song in the dulcet voices of French chansons. The loud, heavy beat had ruined her usual enjoyment, however.

"You can’t even dance to this," Lilia said. That was a challenge if there ever was one, however.

"Want to bet?" Minako asked, and started swaying with the rhythm. They had danced to the sound of their feet, to gasping and wheezing when the choreography turned tough. Minako had danced with recorders that didn’t go louder than the a whispering echo, and she had danced on top of full orchestras where she couldn’t hear the beating of her own heart under the thrumming of the strings. This, this was nothing.

Lilia took her outstretched hand willingly, let herself be tugged onto the space someone had envisioned as a dance floor. Two other couples were on it, closer to making out with each other than proper dancing. A poor showing for a sport that prided itself on artistry.

"Remember that time in London?" Minako had gone with the basic beat, disco fox. Both of her hands were holding onto Lilia’s and she couldn’t suppress her delighted smile. Lilia was always ready to be daring, ready to be outrageous, which you wouldn’t expect from the way she dressed. People tended to forget how much modern sensibilities Madame Baranovskaya had brought to the staid Bolshoi.

"Of course." Lilia spun herself into Minako’s arm and then outside again. Ballroom dancing was different to the club dancing they had done in London, but it worked on similar principles— stick to the beat and your partner or die trying.

Lilia was masterful at telegraphing her next move. Minako had never danced with a partner she understood so completely and instantly but dancing with Lilia never grew old. There was a brief moment where Yuuri flashed into her mind, complaining about the spectacle and sulking. Minako was having too much fun, however, and continued twirling around like she wasn’t over 50 and had been for quite some time.

The other two couples had cleared the floor, and Lilia took over the lead. It was a rush, the beat becoming the thrum of her racing heart. Minako was dizzy with the music, the exertion and Lilia. A brief moment where Minako hesitated, but then she followed Lilia’s lead and jumped up, higher than she had in the safety of her practice study. Lilia caught her, still knew exactly where to grab and where to give so that the momentum would carry over into a spin and not break her back.

Lilia was out of breath, same as her, and they probably shouldn’t have overdone it like this, purely to show off. There was a very satisfying applause from the audience they had drawn, however, and Lilia’s smug bearing which made it all worthwhile.

"I need a break," Lilia murmured. So did Minako, if she was honest. She wasn’t twenty anymore either.

Now that there had been some proper dancing, other pairs poured onto the dance floor, too. Many of them weren’t precisely traditional couples either, which Minako was always happy to see. She really was out of breath and needed to fix her hairstyle — it hadn’t been planned to survive a rigorous workout.

The bathroom was just as elegant as the rest of the venue. Held in darkwood and cream tiles, it smelled faintly of mint and ginger. Her face in the mirror looked happy, more exhilarated than she’d been in years. She had fallen into routine, hadn’t she, and only getting out of it had made her realise. Her lips were red in hue, even without lipstick. It was too late to sneak Lilia inside here and make out again, wasn’t it?

Perhaps she should be slower about falling in too deep with her again. It would hurt them both and serve neither if she went too fast too quickly. She licked her lips, imagining the taste of Lilia on them. She should wait, delay her instant gratification for prolonged pleasure later. The giddy feeling in her bones was not going away, however. The water was cool on her hands and yet still, it did not clear her head.

Why did she fall in with Lilia again? The answer was probably that long Burberry coat in mustard yellow—or perhaps it was the way she could clear all of Minako’s doubts with a look, and then sweep her off her feet in luxury hotels and their banquet halls, with the same unexplainable effort with which she danced on broken feet and fragile bones.

"A rubel for your thoughts," Lilia said from behind, her face in the mirror impeccable. She was staring at Minako, not into the mirror, and Minako could feel her gaze like a touch. "They look like they’re ages away."

She tilted her head to the side, feeling Lilia get closer to her neck. Her warmth was present, even while they were not quite touching, yet. "Thinking of different bathrooms we visited together."

Lilia chuckled. Her breath tickled the hair on Minako’s neck sending shivers down her back. Minako had to consciously think about breathing to not lean into her touch, to prolong the teasing until it was barely bearable. "This one is much nicer than the last one," Lilia said against her skin. One of her hands was wandering along Minako’s waist, bunching up the fabric of her dress until Lilia’s hand could slip underneath. Lilia was watching her in the mirror while her fingers caressed the lining of her panties, the edge of her thighs.

Minako had to close her eyes against the onslaught of emotions. "I don’t know," she said. "The Camden Town raves were a much more romantic effort than whatever this here is. Half-light, you on your knees worshipping me…."

"The smell of piss from the pissoir," Lilia added drily.

"The company hid a lot of sins," Minako replied. Belying her words, she hitched herself up on the marmored sink and turned around, until she faced Lilia and didn’t have to look at herself in the mirror. Lilia’s hand was now on the curve of her ass, and it felt possessive even though she probably hadn’t meant it that way.

Back then, this relationship hadn’t felt so— it had felt like it couldn’t last, like a rushed one-night stand, all the more so after their encounters had turned frequent. It had felt like something Minako had stolen from the world, something secretive that had to stay hidden or it would be gone forever. It hadn’t been healthy back then either.

"Did it hide a lot of sins?" Lilia asked. "Or are the sins only much more visible in hindsight. I didn’t want you to feel like the mistress hidden in the boudoir. I just—I’m sorry about all of it. You deserved better."

Minako looked at her earnest face and wanted to hide away. "It wasn’t like I was much better about any of it." Lilia’s hand had stopped exploring, felt more like a comforting weight than a way to continue their intimacy.

"I shouldn’t have let Yakov dictate my relationships like that."

"Perhaps," Minako shrugged. Personally, she didn’t think it was only Yakov’s fault that their relationship had faltered, though of course it hadn’t helped that he’d allowed Victor to claim all of Lilia’s successes—had, perhaps, even encouraged him to do that. "Perhaps you would have found other reasons to break it off. I certainly did. I wasn’t going to stay at the Bolshoi forever, and you were definitely going to go back. It wasn’t anyone’s fault least of all your ex-husband’s demands on your time."

"Yes. It was a different time. But this time, I would like to keep—" Lilia broke off. "You know you mean a lot to me."

"I do," Minako said, and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I wouldn’t have let anyone into my door like you."

"Would you even want to do this together?" Lilia made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the entirety of the luxurious bathroom. She meant the hotel, too, probably, and their current occupation with figure skaters.

"I’m doing it, aren’t I?" Minako said. And maybe that was answer enough: This time, the both of them wanted to stay together. "You know what, though? I think I’m too old to fuck in bathrooms. All this talk of Camden Town has put me of bathrooms forever, even when they look like this."

Lilia pressed close, kissing her one last time, then let her go. "Fair enough. Let’s go find Yuuri."

"We should leave him be and sneak back to the hotel room before he thinks of joining us and it’ll turn awkward," Minako said, and didn’t think about what Yuuri’s mother would say to that. Though, to be fair, she was always very happy to help Minako get laid…

She didn’t think about Yuuri again.

* * *

This turned out to be a mistake, although one she didn’t notice until later the next morning. The morning had started out so well, too! Laying in bed discovering new spots of pleasure among the aches from a rigorous workout the day before, had always been on of her most cherished delights.

Then, of course, she checked her phone. By now she should have learned that doing so early in the morning was always a mistake. Today was a prime example of why: It had blown up over night.

Apparently, when left alone Yuuri had taken the opportunity to at least beat Victor on the dance floor if he couldn’t do it on ice. Her phone received over a hundred new emails. The first thing she opened, however, was what appeared to be Yuuri’s own quote, "I can beat his world-record, I can beat him on the dance floor, I will beat him at Olympia - Has four-time Worldchampion Victor Nikiforov finally met his match?"

She closed her eyes. Yuuri had definitely been drunk last night. He was going to be extremely embarrassed today. Possibly to an unhealthy amount. But she couldn’t help grinning, either—because this, this folly, this would put him on the map as the figure skater to watch. Hopefully, he’d stand up under the pressure.

"What’s the rush," she heard Lilia mumble into her pillow. And then, louder and more persuasive, "Come back to bed, darling?"

"You want to see this." She waited until Lilia, in all her incredible, bare-naked glory was beside her, and then clicked the button of Mao Suzuki’s video titled "Smackdown between worldclass figure skaters: The Dance Floor Edition"

It was exactly as good as promised. Yuuri had always been an excellent dancer, and he proved it here, in front of Victor who could barely lift his leg further than his hip. The rhythm was in his blood — Minako hadn’t known he’d gotten so talented at breakdancing.

The clip ended with Yuuri falling to the ground in a split and throwing his head back. Minako can see him looking for someone. A brief moment of heat, then Victor’s head— and the clip goes blank.

"This," Lilia said, and Minako could hear the awe in her voice. "This is him. Now, how do we get him to show this kind of spirit on ice?"

If anyone could do it, it was Lilia. And perhaps, the rivalry with Victor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want to go with full-on equivalencies of real-life skaters, just because I know too little to feel at all comfortable about writing that, but Mao Asada and Akiko Suzuki did skate in the 2013/14 Grand Prix season for the single women skating events.  
> This is also not the banquet in which the pole dancing originally happened, this is approximately 4 years earlier than in canon. I wanted to keep the dance battle, but I thought two banquet halls with poles for dancing were a bit much even for me.


End file.
